The Passion of Art
by Artemisthe2
Summary: Lovino, an aspiring artist hires a new model and...what did he just get himself into? Romano/Fem!Spain Rated T for Romano's foul language.
1. Chapter 1

**This was just another weird idea I had, so yeah.**

**Disclaimer: I OWN NOTHING FOR I AM JUST A BENEDICTINE MONK OR SOMETHING...no not really.**

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**Lovino was an artist by heart. Even if his younger brother, Feliciano Vargas, was the more famous one, he still continued to create his own works, trying not to care about his own brother's growing success while his own career was at a standstill. He was a temperamental artist and was often criticized for the harsh and rough characteristics of his paintings, which was why he wasn't as popular as his younger brother.

He often found himself cursing out art critics behind their backs as he read their reviews. This particular one, _Francis Bonnefoy_, got on his nerves. This Bonnefoy man was usually the final word in art critique, if he said your work was horrible, then it was. The review wasn't stating that his work was horrible exactly. It was just so retarded, the ending line.

_A talented artiste, however, his works are missing the passion of life, non?_ -Bonnefoy

What the fuck? Lovino crumpled up the piece of paper. Who the fuck did this guy think he was? Well, besides being one of the most influential art critics in the modern world.

_More passion?_ He was an Italian, damn it! Nobody got more passionate than him...or was it supposed to be the Spanish who were passionate? Bah, whatever, Lovino would just have to visit this Francis Bonnefoy later to give him a piece of his mind...or ask for how to improve and add more passion into his damn art.

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His latest model had put up with him for a week before quitting loudly and with some violence. Sure, he had been yelling at her about how weird she looked in that dress and that her pose was all wrong and well, he was just being honest, really.

She ended up throwing some of his paints at him. It took him a while to get the rainbow stains out of his shirt.

Now he needed a new model and with his reputation for being such a fussy painter, it wasn't going to be easy getting a new one. Really, things just weren't going his way these days. Then again, when were they ever going well?

Sighing, he bit into his tomato, hating this horrible day. Sure, he had had his share of horrible days, but this one really topped them all. No model, this stupid critique, it all reminded him of how inferior he was to his younger brother. That idiot.

His younger brother was always so happy-go-lucky and stupid. Lovino couldn't even believe they were even related. Feliciano had always been so different from him and had always been the one who was more well-liked, what with his friendly disposition. And Feliciano was spending more time with some German bastard these days. Damn Germans.

Lovino got up from his seat, grumbling under his breath. He needed alcohol badly. Jeez, he was, _is_ a great artist. He's talented, so why do these things keep going so wrong for him?

So he got drunk off of sweet wine, a habit that was growing increasingly more common, to his great dismay. Ugh, how stupid this damn world was. Fuck it all. He would just stay home all day and welcome the night with drunken Italian songs about black cats, and maybe phone his twin brother, just to see how things were going for him.

He only managed to wake up with a horrible hangover and it was the day he had to visit that stupid art critic. He groaned, righting himself on the floor and rubbing his sore head. He absolutely could not go out looking like this. His clothes were a mess and his hair was just a disaster. The few friends he had always commented in a snide way about how vain he seemed. Tch, those idiots. In Italy, fashion was a lot more important than it was to Americans.

Lovino stood, going off to make himself look presentable before setting off to Francis Bonnefoy's flat. Once he rang the doorbell, an obnoxious sounding, heavily accented voice answered.

"Ohohoho, be right there, mon ami~" the door swung open and there stood a man with wavy blonde hair and stubble on his chin.

_Figured it would be someone French_, Lovino thought, rolling his eyes.

"Oh, who are you? Did I hit on you while I was drunk? I usually do not go for your type, but I am open to anything!" The damn annoying Frenchie winked, placing a manicured hand on Lovino's shoulder.

Lovino shrugged him off, giving him a dark glare. "I am not here to be disgusted. I'm Lovino Vargas. I came to talk about your critique," he said, crossing his arms.

Francis's expression fell, only to be replaced by a cunning smile.

"Oh, that. My friend helped me with that review. I should introduce you to her. You need a new model right?" the man asked, smirking.

_Damn, news travels fast..._Lovino nodded, looking very unamused. What was this guy doing letting his friend write his reviews for him? No wonder why it sounded so stupid. And her be his model? Fat chance! He wouldn't say anything for now since she would just quit within a week anyway. Lovino would make sure to be especially nasty to this girl, who was probably a dumb blond sex friend of Francis's.

Lovino went back home, satisfied that he had handled that well. Only a few days later would he realize that things would end up very differently than he expected.

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**Um, the credit goes to one of my friends for writing the curse words for me. I am a wimp...and this introduction stinks. I think it'll get a bit more eventful later?**


	2. Chapter 2

**I don't know. Next chapter. Enjoy.**

**Right and disclaimer. I don't own Hetalia.**

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**Here he was, in front of that building. Somewhere in there, Francis Bonnefoy would be waiting, probably with a nice glass of wine, that damn Frenchie. This was already a horrible day, not to mention the fact that he had an equally horrible headache. And this was like some horrible obstacle he had to overcome. Fuck, it felt like an accomplishment just standing there. He was ready to go home already.

Why did he agree to doing this shit again? He had better get something nice for this, like free food because goddammit all, he hadn't eaten breakfast, not that he had been too lazy to make it.

Sometime during his inner turmoil, he had ended up inside the building. There, that was easy. He hadn't even noticed when his feet had started walking. Maybe this would go well after all. He gave a short glance to the security guard and got into the elevator because while he could walk up all those flights of stairs, he didn't feel like it.

Lovino pressed the floor number Bonnefoy was on and waited as the doors closed.

"Ah, wait! Hold the elevator, por favor!" a slightly accented voice cried out.

He was jolted into attention and his hand instinctively went for the button that would close the doors, but then he saw the owner of that voice. Deciding that being nice once in a while wouldn't hurt, he obliged and his hand shifted to keep the doors open.

The woman who had called out for him to wait ran into the elevator and put a hand against the wall to steady her breathing. She looked up at him and gave him a grateful smile before pressing a different floor number. The doors closed and the elevator went up.

Now that she was closer, he could get a good look at her. She certainly had a nice face, one that seemed accustomed to smiling. Her dark brown hair settled in curls on her shoulders. It would've been attractive, if her hair had been done neater, or if she was wearing something fashionable for when his eyes traveled lower, there was nothing more to admire.

What she was wearing was utterly hideous. That baggy sweatshirt and those worn-out jeans (was that a stain?.) Lovino wouldn't have been caught in it regardless of his gender. How she managed to wear it with such casualty made him question if she was even human.

"So, do you live here? I've never seen you before," she said, making his attention snap back to her face. Good, if he had spent any more time staring at her clothes, he would start regretting letting her into the elevator.

"No, I'm visiting someone." He didn't bother adding that he hated that someone so much.

"Ah, really? Me too!" the woman exclaimed, her smile widening.

_Ding._ She glanced at the opening doors. "Oh, this is my floor! Goodbye!" she stepped out, and then she was gone.

He settled back against the wall, still wondering about how strange she was, with her awful clothes and everything. Surely, pretty women would want to dress pretty too? He thought about it all along the way to Francis's door.

Lovino hesitated before knocking, just in case Francis was watching; he didn't want to seem too excited or the French man would attack him or something. Again, just like yesterday, an obnoxious "ohohoho~" sounded out before the door was opened.

Francis leaned against the doorway, looking at Lovino with a very smug smile. "I knew you couldn't stay away." He winked at Lovino and held out his hand, which made him want to punch the damn Frenchie's face as his own face reddened. There was something about the man that made every single word seem so perverted.

_Must be his Frenchiness_, Lovino thought as he brushed past Francis, ignoring the outstretched hand. The Italian man glanced around the room, trying not to look at all impressed. Last time he had been here, he hadn't even bothered to go in, but now he had to admit this Frenchie was living a pretty good life, though he was still a fucking pervert.

Lovino made himself comfortable on the couch, not caring for the fact that in terms of rudeness, it was like a blatant middle finger to someone's face. Thank goodness it was the Frenchie's face which he took extra care to glare at.

"So where the fuck is this so-called model of yours?" Lovino asked impatiently.

Francis only smiled wryly, closing the door and getting his cellphone. "Excuse me, _mon ami_, but I really need to find out if she's gotten herself lost. Again."

Lovino smirked. Of course Francis's model friend was dumb enough to get herself lost in her own friend's building. He stiffened when Francis sat way too close to him on the couch. He didn't want to get any diseases that the blond man may have had, so he tried his best to discreetly squirm away.

"Ah, _quoi_? You are on the fifth floor?" Francis trailed off into a small silence before starting up again, "_Mon ami_, I live on the _eighth_ floor, remember? It's okay. It was only a simple mistake. Just promise me you'll remember next time." He laughed lightly, which surprised Lovino. It sounded different from his usual perverted "le hon hon hon~". It actually sounded genui-

What the fuck was touching his leg? Was this fucker about to molest him?

"Now get into the elevator, _mon ami_, and I'll be seeing you soon." Was he actually speaking so casually when his hand was running up his leg? "You're welcome! I'll see you soon as well, good bye! Oh no, you hang up first. I don't mind."

Lovino jumped when Francis's hand untucked his shirt and sneaked its way inside. Fuck, he was being violated and there was nobody around to help! He knew this was going to be a bad day, why oh why did he come?

Francis closed the phone and set it on the coffee table. Then he turned to Lovino with a wide, smile, which Lovino aptly named the "rapist smile". "Let's continue, _oui_?" the blond leaned over him and fisted a hand in Lovino's hair. He twitched when _that_ spot was brushed against. He could almost cry, but that would make him seem too girly.

_Mio dio, per favore, send someone, anyone, to help me. I do not want to lose my virginity to a Frenchie, especially one that might have who knows how many diseases,_ Lovino silently prayed, shaking his head frantically.

The door flew open and his savior stood there, holding up a key. "Hey, it finally works! Oh _hola_, Francis! Who's that?" a familiar voice asked.

Lovino peeked out from under Francis and his eyes widened. A moment ago, he would've been all too glad to throw himself at his savior and thank her, but it was the woman from the elevator.

His head made the connection instantly.

This woman, though she had saved him just in time, was going to become his model. His very unfashionable model. Heck, even his most-hated ones in the past at least knew how to dress.

He took another look at her clothes and made a face.

Fuck. Life.

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**I'm horrible at updating. I don't even have an excuse. OTL**


	3. Chapter 3

**This is for you hermano, kinda, okay no. Stop smelling like fish, thanks.**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Hetalia or its characters.**

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**It took a moment for the woman to recognize him. He could easily tell when her features lit up and she pointed excitedly at him.

"The nice man from the elevator!" she exclaimed, waving with way too much zeal. _The nice man_. He could almost laugh if there still wasn't the imminent danger of being molested. After all, Francis's hand was still up his shirt and he hated having a woman, even one as stupid as this, seeing him in this improper state. With a growl, he pushed Francis off himself and sat up, trying to right himself to the best of his ability.

"Yes, the _nice man_ from the elevator," he grumbled, adding more than just a hint of sarcasm in his voice before he turned to Francis. "And if you ever try that again, Frenchie, I will fucking call the police _and_ the mafia on your sorry ass." He made sure to glare extra hard to get the point across. It didn't seem to work since Francis was currently in the middle of another annoying "ohohoho~."

"_Mon ami_, please have a seat," Francis said, still looking at Lovino. The Italian opened his mouth to say that he was already sitting when the woman interrupted him.

"Oh! I forgot, okay Francis!" She went to sit on a chair across from the couch. Lovino felt a bit embarrassed, realizing his mistake.

Francis shifted a bit on the couch and thankfully, he managed to end up not so close to Lovino. He relaxed a bit more, listening almost lazily to what Francis started saying.

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"Well, Antonia, this is Lovino. Lovino, this is Antonia. I see you two have met?" A smile played around Francis's lips as he surveyed his two guests.

Antonia nodded, opening her mouth to confirm it, but Lovino interrupted her with a grumble, "Yes, we've met."

"Good! Then this will be much easier. So Lovino, this is your new model!" Francis exclaimed with a flourish. Lovino eyed her with a pronounced scowl, debating whether or not to tell her that there was no way he wanted her to be his model. On one hand, it would get a lot out of the way and he wouldn't have to deal with her ever again...on the other hand, her looks were...passable.

"...she's nothing much," Lovino muttered, deciding to settle for that. He expected Antonia's smile to fall, for her to wail out her complaints and then to throw something, preferably not sharp, at him, but instead, an inquisitive expression came over her face and she stood up, beckoning for Lovino to stand up as well. Confused, he got up and stood next to her.

"Ah, see, we're about the same height! Actually, I think I'm a little taller." Antonia laughed before adding, "So if I'm nothing much...you must be negative, huh?"

Lovino stared in shock. Was she serious? Did she just...? He could only stutter in surprise as his face steadily grew redder. Antonia seemed to notice this. "Aw, you're turning so red, like a tomato! How cute," she cooed, pinching his cheek.

He furiously pushed her away, shouting, "I'm not cute! A-and that's not what I meant by nothing much!" She stumbled, tilting her head in puzzlement.

"And what exactly did you mean, Lovino?" Francis asked in a smooth tone, a hint of amusement hidden underneath. Lovino turned to curse the Frenchman out, but then he saw the blond's expression. It simply dared him to try and hurt Antonia's feelings and judging from how she had reacted to his insult earlier, it would be a very very impossible task. Now Lovino understood why Francis had chosen her of all people. Lovino couldn't bring himself to think of a lethal enough insult.

"N-nothing," Lovino growled, crossing his arms.

"Then please, sit back down, both of you," Francis raised his voice a bit at the end so Antonia, who had found her way into the kitchen, could hear him. She peeked back out, munching on a tomato and sat back down with them.

Francis cleared his throat and continued, "Anyway, she is to be your model. We don't want you ending up like Gilbert now, do we? You have much too much promise for that." Lovino's eyes widened as he heard that name. Gilbert Beillschmidt. Self-proclaimed epitome of awesome. Lovino had seen the man a few times and had heard all the notorious rumors about him.

His career had been doing pretty well at first, when he had Elizaveta Héderváry, a pretty brown-haired woman with the gentlest smile, as his model. Then she went and got hitched to a pianist staying in Germany at the time. Just before the married couple moved to Austria, the pianist's homeland, Elizaveta and Gilbert had an explosive fight which ended with the Hungarian model declaring her resignation by throwing a frying pan at her former employer.

The news reporters had gone crazy over that incident and only one interview with Gilbert had been shown. The albino, in the interview, had leaned back, smiling confidently although bandages were wrapped around his head. "I'll manage by myself! It's much more awesome being alone!" he had stated. For the rest of his downward career, all of his paintings were of himself because "nobody else was awesome enough to be drawn by him".

He had retired early and was now living in his brother's basement.

Lovino winced. He definitely didn't want to end up like him, but Francis had a point. Lovino's rapid switching of models wasn't very normal and it was already hard for him to find new ones. Plus, the damn Frenchie did compliment him just now.

"Fuck, fine. Thanks for your fucking help," Lovino said, trying not to sound too sarcastic because really, he was at least a little grateful.

There was a smirk on the smug bastard's face as he nodded. "You're very welcome, _mon ami_," Francis replied, chuckling lightly.

Antonia sat there with a smile, the tomato having been finished a while ago. Lovino looked her over for the tenth time that day and winced. It was exactly her that looked bad. It was just her overall image and those clothes. Those horrid clothes.

_Fuck, I just want to rip them off her and burn them_, Lovino thought. A heartbeat or two passed before he realized what his thoughts were implying. His immediate reaction was to blush a furious red. _O-only because they're so hideous_, he quickly corrected for himself. He looked up to see Antonia and Francis staring at him. Francis looked amused; Antonia had a softening smile on her face.

"Oh Lovi, you're just so adorable!" she exclaimed, launching herself at him and squeezing him in a tight hug.

"Wh-what? D-d-don't call me Lovi! And g-get off me, dammit!" he stammered, trying to hide his red face because he was way too close to her and her...assets. Antonia proceeded to ignore him and gush out more compliments about his complexion.

Francis's laughter resounded through the room and Lovino continued struggling, to no avail.

"Mio dio! If I stay here any longer, I'll get raped or something!" Lovino yelled when Antonia finally let go of him. He quickly got to his feet and ran to the door.

"Wait, Lovi!" Antonia called.

"Fuck! What?"

A hopeful smile came over Antonia's face. "See you tomorrow?"

Lovino opened his mouth to say no, but instead he stuttered out a shaky yes. He left, but not before catching a glimpse of the stupid woman's delighted grin.

He went home, wondering how he could ever do that smile justice.

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**Quicker than last time. I'm happy. Hey hermano, how did I do, mate? =D**


	4. Chapter 4a: Flowers and Wursts

**Hermano, I swear, when I get my hands on you, I will smack you to death. And you will die a horrible smack-related death.**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Hetalia or its characters.**

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Feliciano curled up on the couch, hugging a giant pillow to himself. It was a nice pillow. He liked it a lot. It was nice to hold and squeeze in place of someone else and it provided good protection just in case his temperamental older brother decided to throw something at him. It was easy to tell when he was in the mood to throw something, especially if the older Vargas twin had just stormed into the room, slamming the door behind him.

Which was exactly what he had just done, so Feliciano had gotten his pillow just in case, but surprisingly, Lovino simply walked past him and went upstairs. Feliciano could only stare at the stairs, wondering if he had been mistaken. Then, his brother came back down, all dressed up in some really nice clothes. He was fixing his tie before he finally noticed Feliciano and narrowed his eyes as if his brother was some flaw in some sort of plan.

"Hey, Feli...I think you should go to a friend's house today," Lovino suggested.

Feliciano raised an eyebrow. "Ve? I can go to Ludwig's house?" he asked, looking hopeful.

His older twin got a disgusted look on his face. "No. Anyone but that potato bastard! Go to that Chinese guy's house."

"...ve? Oh! You mean Kiku? He's Japanese! Ve~"

"S-same thing. Just don't go to the German's house, okay?"

Feliciano nodded, smiling reassuringly at his brother. Lovino visibly relaxed, then tensed up again. "So go get dressed and get out!" he instructed and Feliciano nodded again, heading upstairs. When he went back down, Lovino shouted at him for taking so long.

"_Va bene_~ _Va bene, fratello_~ Why are you even doing this? Do you have a date with some pretty lady?" Feliciano teased as he was being nudged towards the door. Silence greeted his question and he turned around out of curiosity. His twin's face was bright red. Feliciano's face broke out into a huge grin.

"Ve~ Lovi's bringing a girl home!" he exclaimed, and got a rough push out the door for his enthusiasm.

"GET OUT!" The door slammed shut behind him and he turned around to stare at it in confusion. Mumbling a small "ve" in disappointment, he wandered along the street. He had really wanted to go to Ludwig's today, but Lovino didn't want him to. Then again, his temperamental older brother never wanted him to go to Ludwig's house. Feliciano got out his cellphone and immediately called Ludwig.

"_Ja?_ Who is it?" a low voice asked.

"Ve~ Ludwig, it's me!" Feliciano exclaimed loudly. Some people stopped to stare before shrugging and moving along.

There was silence before Ludwig spoke again, "F-Feliciano? Why are you calling me?"

He answered with a small sulk in his tone, "_Fratello_ wanted me out of the house, but he said I couldn't come over to your place, Ludwig. What should I do?"

Some noise could be heard from the other line, as if the phone was being tossed around carelessly. It was a while before Ludwig's breathless-sounding voice spoke up. "That's quite a dilemma, Feliciano. It's fine as long as we meet somewhere other than my house, _ja_?"

"You're so smart, Ludwig...ve, I wish I had thought of that." Feliciano smiled and questioned, "We should go to the park! It's so pretty there! Don't you agree?"

On the other line, the German smiled back as he kept his brother back from the phone with one hand. "I suppose it is pretty. I'll see you soon, Feliciano. Good bye." He closed the phone after hearing Feliciano's farewell and he turned to his silver-haired brother, the smile gone from his face.

"_Bruder_, I'm going to go see Feliciano. Stay here and _behave_," Ludwig growled, poking a finger into the albino's chest.

After hiding his wince of pain, Gilbert smirked at him and crossed his arms. Even after depending (It's different from being a moocher!) on his brother for so long, he still had a mind to disobey and just generally be a nuisance to the point where Ludwig had even threatened to call Elizaveta for a babysitter. That had shut Gilbert up, but only momentarily.

"Heh! Of course, _of course I will_." Gilbert's smirk only grew wider and more devious. Ludwig didn't trust it at all, but he sighed and gave up. Feliciano was probably waiting for him right now.

He turned, put on his coat, and left.

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Feliciano waved as he saw Ludwig's figure in the distance. The sight of him, ever since they had first met, was always so noticeable to the bubbly Italian. Tall, serious, not the type to smile over every little thing like Feliciano. They were complete opposites, but Feliciano's gaze soon kept traveling to him.

It hadn't made any sense to him back then at the dinner party where Feliciano had seen him first. It still didn't make any sense, but he no longer cared. He was Feliciano and Ludwig was Ludwig.

"Ve~ Ludwig, aren't those flowers pretty?" Feliciano said, pointing to a bunch of purple lilacs sprouting in a vivid array of various other flowers. Ludwig nodded slowly, raising an eyebrow. To him, they looked just like any ordinary flowers. What was it that the Italian saw about them that was so special?

"Oh, look, aren't these pretty too? _Che bella_!" Feliciano exclaimed, standing on the tips of his toes to see some acacia blooms better.

_Perhaps he just likes flowers_, Ludwig concluded, smiling despite himself. He walked beside the brunette, listening as he chatted on and on about many different things, pasta this moment, his art the next. Just another typical day, it seemed, for the two of them.

The music of the ice cream truck soon attracted Feliciano who had left his wallet at home. Sighing, Ludwig bought him a plain ice cream cone with his own money, even though the Italian typically made more money than him. He was rather famous after all.

As he was about to hand the cone to Feliciano, the shorter man hugged him tightly and said, "_Grazie_, Ludwig! I'll pay you back, I promise!"

Flushing slightly, he nodded and held the cone down to him. "It's fine, Feliciano, you don't have to repay me," he mumbled and cleared his throat because he found that his mouth had suddenly gotten dry.

They sat on a bench in silence as Ludwig waited for Feliciano to finish his ice cream. He enjoyed moments like this where he could lean back, close his eyes and relax. His job and his brother had him on edge most of the time and it seemed as if it was only around the Italian he could wind down.

"Ve~ Ludwig, do you know flower language?" The sudden question broke his serene train of thought. He turned to look at Feliciano, but the other man's face was unreadable for once.

"_W-was_?" he stuttered back, looking confused. Flowers could talk? Was Feliciano going crazy?

"You don't know what lilacs mean, Ludwig?" Feliciano continued on as if Ludwig wasn't staring at him strangely, "Or acacias?"

Ludwig shook his head slowly. The other man opened his mouth, presumably to tell him, but then Ludwig's phone rang. He answered it quickly, fumbling as he opened it.

"_Ja_? Who is it?" Ludwig asked.

"Oh hey, _bruder_, I think you should come home right now. The awesomeness demands it," a mocking voice from the other end answered.

"I see no good reason to," Ludwig replied curtly, his eyebrow furrowing. He really wanted to find out what Feliciano had meant to tell him.

"What? I gave such an awesome reason too! Well, uhh, w-we ran out...of...of...WE RAN OUT OF WURST!"

At that moment, Ludwig's whole life shattered before his eyes or rather, his culinary life. He could hardly believe it, and while Gilbert might be lying, he still had this nagging suspicion that maybe he wasn't and the wurst was actually gone.

He hadn't realized that his hand was shaking until Feliciano had pointed it out for him. Nodding, he managed an unsteady "I-I'll be right there, _bruder_" before hanging up. Feliciano stared up at him with worried eyes.

"Ve? Is something wrong, Ludwig?" he asked. The German, who had gone pale, shook his head.

"We're going to go to the supermarket."

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When they had gotten to his house, Lovino's order not to go to Ludwig's house long forgotten, Gilbert was there, mouth full of something, and a plate of that something right in front of him.

"I thought all the wurst was gone?" Ludwig muttered, marching over to his older brother with a scary expression on his face.

"Ah, um, funny story about that! My pure awesome made it all better!" Gilbert hastily explained, stepping away from Ludwig because the vibes he was giving out right now weren't good. The explanation didn't help, it seemed, since Ludwig cracked his knuckles loudly.

"O-oi, _bruder_! You don't want Feli to see all this violence, do you?" Gilbert said desperately. Feliciano, who had been on the phone, now looked up with a puzzled expression.

"Oh, no! It's fine. Lovi said I could come back, probably because the pretty lady's gone now," Feliciano called as he made his way towards the door, "I'll see you later, Ludwig!" The door slammed shut and Gilbert was left with his brother who looked really homicidal right now.

"Hey, the good part is...you don't have to cook dinner for me today?" the albino offered, smiling his most winning smile because he was positive that would win him over.

A few well-landed punches later, he wasn't so sure anymore.

"_Mein gott_, _bruder_! Did you really have to go that far?" Gilbert mumbled, pressing some ice against his forehead. "You're almost as bad as Eli-..." He went silent and Ludwig, satisfied for now, sighed, crossing his arms.

"Go back to the basement, _bruder_. I need to check something." He couldn't hold back a small smile when Gilbert cackled, jumping up and running to his studio in the basement. He had been working on something there for a while now, and Ludwig sometimes wondered what it was, but he was sure he'd find out someday.

For now, he sat himself down at his computer, which was mostly used for work, but not today. His hands got busy on the keyboard as he looked up what Feliciano had been talking about in the park.

"...I must be mistaken," Ludwig murmured, running a hand over his reddening face.

_"Lilacs symbolize love (See Language of flowers)..."_

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**DUN DUN DUNN~ That last quote was from Wikipedia. AND YES, GERMANY USES WIKIPEDIA AND MAYBE I WROTE THIS WHOLE CHAPTER JUST FOR THE SAKE OF THE WURST GAG.**


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